


Between the Stacks

by silverknees



Series: Stucky Bingo 2019 [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Steve Rogers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Library Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Bucky Barnes, Semi-Public Sex, Stucky - Freeform, Wall Sex, well bookshelf sex but who's keeping track
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverknees/pseuds/silverknees
Summary: Some punk was in his spot. Bucky’s textbooks were straining his arms, he’d spilled half his coffee on his jeans when some stupid freshman ran into him, and now a fucking art student was in his spot.filling in the college students square; feel-filled library sex!





	Between the Stacks

Some punk was in his spot. Bucky’s textbooks were straining his arms, he’d spilled half his coffee on his jeans when some stupid freshman ran into him, and now a fucking _art student_ was in his spot.

Sticks of graphite and loose sheets of paper were scattered all over the hardwood desk, and a blond head was ducked down, looking intently at… something. Bucky couldn’t see from over here, and honestly, he didn’t care. There was a History midterm in less than three weeks, and if this jerk was gonna take Bucky’s spot, then where the hell was he meant to study?

He sure as hell couldn’t go back to his flat – Natasha, his roommate, was a dance major and had commandeered the whole space for rehearsal. The coffee shop was just embarrassing right now, and anywhere else in the library was way too crowded at this point in the semester.

Steeling himself and gritting his teeth, Bucky pulled out the chair opposite the blond and threw himself into it, putting his books down with way more force than necessary. The seat-stealer’s head jerked up at the sudden movement and noise, and Bucky found himself gazing into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

“What the fuck, man?”

Huh. Guess the kid wasn’t as delicate as he looked.

“Just sittin’ down, damn,” Bucky muttered, fixing his eyes on the table to avoid any more strangely intense eye contact. He couldn’t afford to be intimidated out of his spot by a spunky fuckin’ _art student._

After a moment the kid went back to his work, and Bucky flipped open his textbook, forcing himself to concentrate on the genealogy of the deposed Russian royal family. If his jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching his teeth, well, that was Bucky’s business and Bucky’s business alone.

*

Over the next week, Bucky and the interloper struck up a quiet, uneasy sort of truce. The glares and slamming of books had come to an end, but sometimes Bucky still felt that pointed gaze on him while his head was down. He felt bad about the way he’d acted on the first day, but for fuck’s sake, it was his _spot._ Then again, it was a pretty secluded spot, tucked away in the stacks. Maybe he should cut the kid some slack. Maybe he should stop thinking about this so much.

Then, on Thursday, the kid smiled at him. It was nothing special, acknowledgement and recognition, but it made Bucky’s stomach turn over, something he tried hard to keep off his mind for the rest of the time they were sat together in the stacks. Despite his mind’s protestations, though, Bucky found himself lying awake that night thinking of slender fingers, smudged with graphite, wrapped around a pencil. How they might look wrapped around other things.

On Friday, Bucky felt the nudge of a foot gently pressing against his calf. He jerked his leg away, initially in shock, but recovered his composure after a moment. If his foot wandered to the other side of the table, seeking out the kid’s own in return, nobody had to know. If Bucky’s foot met a surprisingly muscled calf, nobody had to know. And if Bucky lay awake again, thinking of being held down by ropy muscles, of blue eyes, widening, of silky blond hair clasped in his fist? That meant nothing, nothing at all.

*

On Saturday night, Bucky let Natasha drag him out to some hipster bar her dancer friends frequented, the kind of bar with exposed piping and bare lightbulbs and seven-dollar beer. Bucky hated it, but since Nat was buying, he endured.

He was enduring a lot, lately, he thought. His apartment taken over by dance majors, his midterm looming on the horizon, and his study spot being taken by some arty asshole with pretty eyes and hands and – _stop, dammit._ Anyway, Bucky had a lot going on.

The beer, for all the money Nat had coughed up to the bartender, tasted like any other beer – sour and bitter. Bucky was a spirits kind of guy, but hey, he wasn’t buying. Gazing into the neck of the bottle and swirling it around, he didn’t notice that there was someone behind him until there was a light tap on his shoulder.

Bucky jumped a little in his seat, turning around with a scowl and ready to chew out Natasha for sneaking up on him.

Oh.

“Hey,” the _fucking art student who stole Bucky’s spot_ smiled at him, beer in hand. “I thought I recognised you, what’re you doing here?”

Bucky was struck dumb. What were the fucking chances, of all the stupid hipster bars in stupid hipster New York to go to, Natasha had taken him to the one containing _this_ punk?

The kid took in Bucky’s expression, his face falling slightly before he plastered on a (clearly fake) grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” He reached up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind his ear, and Bucky clenched his fist because he wanted to do it for him. _Fuck._

“See you around, Bucky.”

By the time it sunk in that the kid knew his name, despite the fact that they’d barely spoken, the blond head was ducking through the crowd, shoulders slumped. Bucky supposed he must be having a bad day, or something. Whatever, it’s not like the kid was his responsibility. It’s not like he gave a shit.

Natasha chose that moment to return, leaving a crowd of laughing dancers in her wake. She hopped up to the barstool next to Bucky, swiping his beer out of his loose grip and taking a swig, slamming it down on the counter dangerously close to where his hand was still resting.

“So,” she drawled casually, as if she wasn’t about to drop a fucking bombshell. “When did you meet Steve?”

*

_Steve Rogers was one of Natasha’s endless stream of eligible gay friends, and honestly Bucky was sick of hearing about the guy. He and Nat had met when Steve did studies of the dance majors for a project in their sophomore year, and they’d clearly hit it off._

_“I really think you’d like him, Buck,” Natasha insisted one night, once again indulging in her favourite hobby of setting Bucky up on hopeless dates with a string of artsy guys. “He’s really fucking smart, and he is_ exactly _your type.”_

_Bucky rolled his eyes, because Nat had absolutely no idea what she was talking about._

_*_

Nat knew exactly what she was talking about.

*

 _Steve,_ Bucky thought, slowly testing the name as he turned the corner in the stacks. _Steve Rogers._ He opened his mouth as he reached the desk, eyes flickering towards – an empty chair. Steve wasn’t there.

Bucky wasn’t disappointed. It wasn’t as if they had an _arrangement,_ or anything. It was a coincidence, that’s all. They didn’t even know each other, they weren’t friends, and Bucky had work to do. Even better, he had his spot back.

Despite what should have been a positive turn of events, something felt off when Bucky sat down to get his books out, and the feeling remained in his chest the whole three hours he was sitting there. It was only when the librarian yelled that there were fifteen minutes before closing that Bucky realised he hadn’t taken in a single word.

Grabbing his scattered things, Bucky frowned at the marks on the table from Steve’s pencils, the small stains from his watercolours. At least one of them was leaving a mark.

Bucky huffed out a sigh, chiding himself as he slung his bag over his shoulder and began making his way through the maze of shelves. He was so in his own head that he almost didn’t notice his phone ringing, but managed to grab hold of it and swipe up just before the call went to voicemail.

“Are you in the library?” Natasha barked, catching Bucky off guard.

“What?” he grumbled, leaning against a shelf of biology textbooks, “Natasha, what do you want?”

“Are. You. In. the. Library?” she repeated, and Bucky could feel her narrowed eyes through the phone.

“Yes, Natasha. Why?” Bucky rolled his eyes, flicking his nail along the spines of the books as Natasha rustled around on her end of the phone.

“Just- stay where you are, okay?”

“Nata-“ _beep_. She’d hung up on him.

Groaning, Bucky practically threw his phone into his bag, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground. Yes, he could easily walk back to the desk, but that was effort, and honestly he was tired.

Minutes passed him by as he sat on the rough carpet, absentmindedly tracing patterns on his legs with a fingernail as he waited for… something.

Footsteps sounded from a few aisles away, too heavy to be Nat’s, and Bucky pushed himself up, leaning against the shelf with his arms crossed over his chest. He narrowed his eyes, ready to stare down whoever walked around the corner, before widening them in shock.

_Steve._

“h-hi,” he panted, his face flushed as he used one arm to support himself against a bookshelf, the other clutching his side.

Bucky stepped forward, his concern for the kid overriding any remaining irritation or confusion, and tugged the satchel from Steve’s hand.

“You need an inhaler? Is it in here?” He asked, fiddling with the clasps and deliberately looking away from the rosy heat spreading down Steve’s neck, creeping under the collar of his shirt.

“Bucky – Bucky, wait.” Steve placed a hand over his own, stopping him from opening the bag. “I’m fine.” Bucky tried to protest, but a look from Steve chastened him. “I don’t need my inhaler. I just,” Steve looked down at his feet, a blush rising high on his flushed cheekbones.

“What is it, then, Steve?” Bucky realised his voice had gone low at the same time he realised he’d used Steve’s name for the first time. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care about either of the two facts. “What do you need?”

Steve chose that moment to look up, his eyes meeting Bucky’s with a look of determination.

“You really want to know?”

Bucky nodded shakily, anticipation coiling in his veins, and Steve took a step forward, closing what remained of the gap between them. Neither of them said another word, or stopped looking at each other for even a moment. He raised a hand to gently cup Bucky’s jaw, tilting his face down.

“I want this,” Steve whispered, the last sound cut off as he pressed their lips together.

Bucky gasped into the kiss, his lips going pliant under Steve’s as he steadied himself with a hand on his shoulder. Steve’s tongue flicked at the seam of Bucky’s lips, bus despite every part of him screaming _no, fuck, keep going,_ Bucky broke away, drinking in the blue of Steve’s eyes.

“I thought-“

“I thought you hated me,” Bucky murmured, cutting off whatever Steve was about to say.

“What? You jerk, I thought _you_ hated _me,_ ” Steve replied, their faces only inches apart.

“Don’t call me a jerk, punk,” he snarked, the bite of his words disappearing as he leaned in to meet Steve in another kiss.

This one was rougher, bordering on filthy, the irritation and pent-up attraction of the past month coming out in full force.

Bucky slipped his tongue into Steve’s mouth and he _moaned,_ a throaty sound that Bucky wanted to record and listen to on repeat. He resisted the urge, though, and committed himself to drawing more noises out of the blond, moving his mouth to Steve’s neck and lightly sucking, revelling in the way his breath hitched, and his hands moved to tighten in Bucky’s hair.

“We should probably – oh, _fuck, -_ talk about this,” Steve groaned, and Bucky decided that he was far too lucid, saying as much to Steve, who cracked a grin in return and drew him up for another dirty kiss.

“Better change that, then,” Steve said into Bucky’s mouth, grabbing one of his hands and pushing it down between their bodies, where Bucky could feel them both getting harder. Steve moaned at the contact, prompting Bucky to make short work of the button and zipper on his frankly _indecent_ jeans, tight enough to see every sinewy twist of muscle and covered in splatters of paint and smudges of graphite.

Steve’s jeans open, Bucky slipped his hand inside them, cupping his hard cock in his hand as he pressed into Steve’s space, mouthing over his collarbone and the side of his neck.

“This okay, Stevie?” he snuck his hand into the waistband of Steve’s boxers, dipping his fingers in and barely brushing the base of Steve’s dick. Steve’s hips jerked and he let out a breathy moan, his hands scrabbling over Bucky’s shoulders as the brunet finally pulled out his cock, stroking it hard once, twice, before letting go and stepping back completely.

Steve’s eyes snapped open, his hips rolling forward to seek contact and his expression quizzical.

“Buck?”

Bucky didn’t answer, just met his eyes as he slowly undid his own pants, reaching inside to draw out his leaking cock, shiny at the tip from precome. Steve stared for a moment, pupils dilating. The tip of his tongue darted out to lick his lips, almost subconsciously, and Bucky pushed forward, pressing his whole body against Steve’s.

The skin-on-skin contact forced a moan from the both of them, and Bucky initiated a fierce kiss at the same moment as he took both of their cocks in his fist. It was a stretch; neither of them was especially small, but the slick leaking from the both of them eased Bucky’s grip, and he stroked them both together as his tongue slipped into Steve’s pliant mouth.

It really didn’t take long, between teeth nipping at lips and breathy moans, for Steve’s hips to stutter into Bucky’s fist, his cock pulsing and leaking a steady flow of come. Bucky stroked him through it, the come acting as even more lubrication, and as Steve’s dick twitched out the last of his aftershocks, Bucky came. His come streaked their stomachs, and he bit down at the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder to stifle his scream.

It took several minutes, but when their breathing evened out, Steve handed him his cardigan, first wiping their stomachs and then gesturing for Bucky to do the same with his sticky hand.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, his cheeks still stained with pink. “Wanna get dinner with me?”

Bucky grinned, really grinned. He linked his fingers with Steve’s, leaning in for a chaste kiss before pulling him away from the bookshelf.

“Let’s just hope the librarian hasn’t locked up yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://professorxxxavier.tumblr.com/)!


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